


Grief

by deltachye



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), ouchies all around, probably spoils endgame too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 21:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18764146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [tony stark & peter parker general fic]grief /ɡrēf/deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death.[no further updates]





	Grief

There’s quite frankly a shit ton of reasons why he shouldn’t be here, but he is anyways.

Breaking in wasn’t very difficult. Especially now that half of the universe is dead, it takes a whole new meaning of turning a blind eye to a jimmied door. In any case Tony especially doesn’t feel like he belongs here. No, he _knows_ damn well he doesn’t belong here. He does not have the right to be here. Yet he still got into his car, maneuvered the abandoned roads, pulled up into the lot, and marched right into a little apartment in Queens.

It was dusty in here. Alas, the irony.

He could never get used to the silence. New York—it’s the city that never sleeps. There is no such thing as silence. But it’s bitterly quiet all the time now; hauntingly eerie. A background reminder. Heavy. A foggy curtain of loss.

Tony doesn’t really know why he thought May Parker would be here, but she isn’t. It sinks him in the gut as if he hasn’t taken enough hits already. The air is stiflingly thick with neglect, and he smelt rotting food before even coming inside. The quiet slowly gives way to the buzz of flies when he approaches the kitchen. Some half-made meal decomposes nonchalantly. Had she been waiting for him to get home from school? He can’t even tell what it was supposed to be, but it will never be.

He’s careful not to look at the pictures on the wall as he wanders around.

It’s quaint and quirky, the way all upstanding New York women strive to be. T.J Maxx décor that hangs in the balance between intriguing and tacky lines every free surface. Uncomfortable but cute pillows sit perched on unused couches. In typical box apartment fashion, there’s random assortments haphazardly stuffed where they shouldn’t be: laundry baskets of underwear, unread mail, recycling. There’re warm choices in colour; vaguely retro. It’s lived in. Homey.

He finds himself in Peter’s room without remembering when he walked in.

Not much had changed since he’d last visited. It looked like the kid got a new bed, at least, some kind of IKEA loft. Not Tony’s style, personally. A bit cheap looking. Too cramped for luxury. Hammer and scuff marks from poor workmanship give away its worth. A typical teenage boy’s messy desk is shoved under the bunk, precariously piled high with books and homework and snack wrappers and broken pencils and other junk. Somehow in the mess it all seems very Peter. The plastic chair Tony had sat in when he’d first recruited Peter is still in the same spot, though, out of place now that the room design has shifted. In fact, it sort of looks to be the cleanest thing in this whole house.

He turned away sharply. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry.

Why was he even here right now? What was he searching for? Was he even trying to find something at all? Tony already knew he was smart—hell, it’s all he’s got besides the devilishly good looks and everything else—but he still couldn’t figure it out. He’d thought about it the whole way here and was still coming up dry now that he was rooted right where it all began. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Might as well keep looking.

No phone lying around, though the battered charging cable had its wires exposed on the floor. Tony wasn’t really disappointed; none of these Gen Z kids went anywhere without it anymore. He’s got computers half built along the walls. But a laptop is still here, snoozing on top of some thick textbooks. There’s a familiar looking O-Chem book that reminds Tony of his own days in high school. God, it feels forever ago. His fingertips brushed against the spine gingerly before opening the laptop lid. Peter had kept it plugged in, and power was restored to this ward some time ago, so it wasn’t dead. The password prompt lit up, the laptop spluttering up to a whir like a surprised cat, offended to be woken up. Peter’s icon was a default picture of a fortune cookie. Nothing interesting.

It would’ve been a piece of cake to type some code lines or connect his phone into the system and hack in, but something draws his fingers to the keys. They’re oily and worn. Plenty of all-nighters have been pounded on this keyboard. Tony’s eyes fluttered closed for a second. He can almost see Peter’s grin, shy but ear to ear under shiny puppy dog eyes.

**spiderboy**

The home screen fades in and Tony’s stomach sinks. Maybe it’d hurt less if he’d got it wrong, but apparently, he knows Peter a little too well.

It’s a picture of him and his friends, looks like, posing outside of the Washington Monument. It’s the kind of photo you’d print and hang in your room and smile at fondly. He couldn’t really tell how long ago it was taken. Tony didn’t recognize most of these kids, but they look so horrifyingly small and young. Suddenly the pain washes over him cold and anew and suddenly, he hates himself all over again for thinking he could just ‘get over it’. He’s a fool for thinking he’s had enough hurt. He’s a moron for thinking that he was numb to it. As if. There’s no getting over it. He’s failed them. He’s failed _Peter_.

For a second, he thought about just leaving. Turning his back and moving on. Forgetting everything. But he still didn’t feel like he’s found whatever he wanted in the first place. There’s still something he needs here. With a shaky sigh he tries to avoid looking at their faces as he opens up the home drive. It’s all homework or school related. There isn’t anything remotely interesting. But that’s not surprising; after all, he would never keep any of his secret files out in the open. It takes a little bit of snooping around, but he finds it soon enough—a firewall that prompts another password. A retinal and fingerprint scan, too? Pretty advanced for such a dinky looking laptop. He bypasses them with his phone and pulls up the locked files.

There’s a 20-minute-long video file, and even from just the miniature icon Tony can tell it’s from Germany. It feels like that never happened. His teeth grind together painfully, his heart worryingly stiff. Would things be different if Tony had just kept his nose out of it? Would Peter still be here, fretting over girls and algebra 2 if Tony had just left him alone?

There’s another video file, much shorter. Tony doesn’t see any text files, and this one is the most recent entry. He double taps it almost naively, without even wondering what he might see.

_“Whoa. WHOA. Okay, whoo!”_

Peter’s wearing a disheveled hoodie, plopping down in his office chair. He spins in it, aggressively running his hands through his brown hair. When he puts his feet down to stop himself, he’s beaming. It looks like a vlog.

_“You’re not—well, you’re me. Because I’m the only one I’m recording these for. I think. Maybe. Anyways, you’re not going to FLIPPIN’ believe this. Tony Stark—MISTER Tony Stark, who’s also friggin’ Mister Iron Man, just asked me—you—to become an Avenger. Like, what!? I mean, I—you—said no, but. Like. He asked m—us. Us! Can you believe it? Because I can’t. Iron Man TRUSTS us enough to like, almost be an Avenger. Like if I said yes, I would be an Avenger. RIGHT NOW. Like Captain AMERICA. Me and Cap. Could you imagine that? Brooklyn and Queens! But like, it’d be the coolest if Mr. Stark—Iron Man—and I fought together again. Like WAPOWWWW and WHOOOM. Wooooosh._

He makes vector hand motions like Tony does to signify that he’s Iron Man.

_“He could like fly off and I could shoot my web onto the suit for momentum and then POW! You know?! Gosh… it was really cool. That was the best day of my life. I think I peed myself. I might pee myself just thinking about it again. It was… really… cool._

_Man, I hope I’ll still get to like, work with him again. Not even as an Avenger or Spider-Man. He’s like, the closest thing to a dad I can get. Sugar daddy, maybe, because he got me the suit…? W-wait no, that’s weird. Nevermind. Forget I said that part! Forget that. That’s… ugh. I’m still just trying to believe that the coolest guy in the whole world asked me to join his team. Maybe someday? I’m not ready for that kinda responsibility yet. Like, I can’t just casually roll up with Thor and Iron Man. I’ve gotta stay true to why I started this whole thing. It’s what Mr. Stark taught me after all._

_But yeah. I hope it’s not the end with us because I still have so much to learn from him. It’d be really cool to just spend a day with him like normal people instead of as Spider-man and Iron Man. I think that’d be even better._

_Anyways, I’m going to go shower. AVENGER. Ha!”_

Tony knew, now, what he had come for. He knew more than ever as the hot tears rolled over and scalded him; as the lava in his chest rose and bubbled out of his throat; as the pain in his heart grew encompassing, shattering him all over again. He wished he had humility. He wished he wasn’t this selfish scum of a man. He’d come all the way here so that he could kick down the door and see Peter freeze in his room, demanding in an awkward stutter why Tony had broken in. He had crossed every desperate last-ditch line so that he could tell himself no, Peter Parker had _not_ died in his arms, and no, Peter Parker had _not_ had his life ended early. No, Peter Parker had not died in pain. Tony had come all the way here because he still didn’t really believe Peter was gone. In his mind it was far away, muddled by exhaustion and oxygen deprivation. Pete was fine. The little guy was fine, happy and healthy far away from him.

But he was. “Was”, as in not “is”. Peter Parker was gone. He was not coming back. God, it hurt. God, he wished he’d never come. God, he wished he’d forgotten, but then wouldn’t that be crueller? To a bright young life that had everything taken away from him—but what did that bright young boy, the one with a puppy’s smile, think of _him_?

 _Dad_.

God, he missed him.

**Author's Note:**

> no other relationship in the mcu had me bawl in the theatre like a fool.
> 
> support my writing? www.ko-fi.com/deltachye  
> tumblr: https://deltachye.tumblr.com/tagged/chye%27s-fics


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